Dark Tales From Dandelion

1

Vermilion stalked the three, keeping up as much as he could; though the dirfweed was quite a bit faster than him, he could track the deep claw marks in the ground pretty easily. The grass in this forest was snow-white, along with the needles on the trees. He’d been in this thick of white pines for ten days now and assumed this is why it was called the Forever Forest; it was taking forever to get through it. Luckily there was plenty of game in the forest. He’d killed a deer two days ago and was still eating on the jerky he’d made. He’d also made another jacket from the deer’s skin—it was cold inside the forest even though it had been Summer before he’d come in.

When Vermilion needed to, he used the same trick with his muscles that he used for a ghost shot to move faster and keep up with the dirfweed, though this was exhausting, and he had to eat quite a bit more food than usual to keep his strength. The three he followed had stopped to rest each night, the shape-shifter administering some sleep-inducing liquid to Fiona before he went to sleep. Prudance was doing her usual catatonic baby routine, her only movement to root around for a nipple. Red kept her well-fed with a bottle, occasionally spooning a green paste into her misshapen mouth. Voidless shit, thought Vermilion every time he saw this happening. Red kept her alive just to serve a purpose, not out of any kind of moral obligation. To open the head of the Woman in White.

2

They rode into the night in silence, the white needles on the Forever Forest’s trees brushing against the phase-shifter’s legs as he bounced with his dirfweed. He wore his original form. Must save my energy, Putnam thought. Taking on any other form and dealing with the tugging from the other potential would take up too much. I have no idea what this Drifter may do when the Boost wears off. Stay vigilant, he told himself.

As if in response to Putnam’s thoughts, Vance said, “it’s wearin’ off, Putnam. I can feel the shit startin’.”

Putnam pulled on the two hooks on the dirfweed’s saddle that connected to the metal loops of his harness. When it came to a stop, he unhooked himself and jumped down, landing on the white grass with a hush. Now that the dirfweeds had stopped their galloping strides, the forest was was still with an eery silence.

“Do you need my help administering the sedative, Vance?” Putnam asked.

“No. Thank ya, but I’ll handle all dealings with my asshole while I’m conscious. I’ll let you give me the other doses if you don’t mind,” Vance said.

“It was my idea. I do not mind,” Putnam said flatly. Vance hesitated, staring at the phase-shifter.

“I’ll jus’ go off into the trees an’ … yeah. Then you tie me onto the dirfweed, aight?”

Putnam nodded his head. He worried that Vance was going to run for it, but was confident he could catch The Drifter if he tried it.

Vance reappeared moments later buckling his pants. Putnam waited for Vance to mount his dirfweed again, and after The Drifter leaned forward and hugged the creature’s thick neck, Putnam began tying the rope around the both of them to secure he stayed in the saddle while unconscious.

The enema did not take long to start working, and Putnam was soon by himself. Just a few more cycles, then I’ll rest, he thought, steering his dirfweed to Vance’s and tying an end of the rope to its saddle.

3

Vance’s dreams were horror-filled. He convulsed as they took hold. There was one where he was running, faster than he had ever done before, trying to find a Boost. When he caught hold of it finally, the tip of the needle would go soft every time he tried to put it into his arm.

The Jubilee chips were all gone. A fat man with a wraparound mustache, a red coat and a long cane was gesturing him into a hole in the wall on Jubilee Street.

“Come in, Valucias!” The fat man said joyfully. “We’ve all been waiting for you.” He held a hand out in a gesture that said ‘step right up’. Vance walked through the hole in the wall. What he now saw horrified him more than his Boost chasing. A mass of flesh. So many bodies, unclothed, undulating together compulsively, seeming all to moan with one breath, then inhale sharply with the next. A trapeze artist swung up ahead, jabbing herself with a Boost and laughing wildly.

The fat man that had welcomed Vance to the mass of flesh was being sucked on by a grey-feathered woman with bat-like wings. Though she looked like a bird in some ways, like a tail feather and talons, wings on her back, she was mostly humanoid. An organ wailed an insane song, not quite like the tik-tik of Lavender, but somewhere in the same realm. Dip-dap-dap dip-dap-dap the organ went. There was not so much a man playing it as an autonomous mass of pink flesh that connected to the pipes and moved with the waltz of the organ.

“What the fuck … ” Vance sobbed. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He did not have the energy for this. He was coming down from a Boost, wasn’t he? He was so Voiddamned tired. He made his way to the door. Somewhere along the way he had developed a slight pain in his right ankle and he started to limp. Every entrance was blocked by the bodies consummating their invitation. As he limped around, looking for some kind of relief from this visual overstimulation, he saw Genna. Her big blue eyes looked up at him, her red hair a mass of tendrils splayed out beneath her. She was accepting the affections of a woman. It hurt to watch, regardless of the arousal it now inspired within Vance.

“Valucias,” whispered a small voice. Somehow the whisper was louder than all of the moaning, pulsing, and waltz of the organ. Vance looked around. Up in the balcony, in front of three fleshy offshoots, stood a woman in perfect white. Her hair was long and yellow, her face an oval. She wore a sesnickie blade at her hip. She seemed to be leaning up against the pillar nearest her, favoring her left side. Vance swayed, and realized he might fall if he didn’t also support his right ankle.

“Mama?” Vance asked. The Woman in White nodded, then walked away, a slight limp to her gait. “Mama!” Vance limped after her. The flesh parted between two pillars and Vance went up a dark stairway that reminded him of a Clever, twisting and turning, up becoming down, right becoming left. The walls became animate and faces smiled at him as they tried to force their way out of the wall. The faces began reaching out too far, silver and smooth, sinuous and hostile, with long noses and crooked teeth.

“We know what you did, Valucias,” the many dancing faces on long-necks intoned. “We see your truths. And your lies.” They swirled around, coiling around his body, suffocating him. From his back, over his left shoulder, a slick black substance stretched out toward the faces. Vince? Vance thought. That you?

The sword sheath stretched out, probing at the silver surface of the faces’ long necks, like a dog sniffing to inspect their ownership of a particular patch of grass. Then it drew back, and struck like a snake, burrowing into the long neck of a face. Black bled into silver, and the faces let Vance go as they shrieked. Vince burrowed in and in and did not stop until the faces were turning black from the sword sheath being inside of them. Vance watched as the white point of his sesnickie blade floated over his right shoulder, gripped by part of the sword sheath’s rubbery flesh, forming a black hand around the hilt. The hand sliced the necks of the faces up and they bled silver all over the stairs and Vance’s black shirt.

Go, Vance, said Vince. She waits.

4

Putnam watched The Drifter as he jerked this way and that, throwing up from time to time.

“Mama?” Vance muttered. Putnam inspected more closely, but Vance’s eyes were closed.

The phase-shifter breathed out and relaxed. Two days now, walking through this Forest. Time did not move here. Putnam felt the lack of time, almost like when he’d hummed that tune to himself. ‘My no time is a peace song. My answer is you.’ I hummed it for you, Callus. Do you remember? I still do. Putnam felt the silence of the forest. He looked around, listening intently to be sure he was alone, then he sang:

“Oh how I know

Oh how it’s true

Sweet the scent of stargazers

We gazed as nevers bloomed

I don’t know the questions

I have now an answer

My no time is a peace song

My answer is you.”

My answer is you. Should I see you again, Callus, I will tell you that. Would that I could be with you in this uncertain time, when a Necrolore threatens our people. Such a silly dispute … The Roxy flowers that colored the fields for miles outside the Tower of Ken-Phae—he’d always known Callus’s problem with them, but had avoided the conversation as often as possible. Surely they could make it work if they just avoided this one issue? Paying for phase-shifters to learn to control their powers, to defend themselves, by selling death to the world. Vance looked over at Vance’s shaking form. He knew that the withdrawals from Roxy Milk were worse than coming off of a Boost. How wrong I was, Callus. How wrong we all were.

The makeshift tower in the Dead Lands where all of the outcast phase-shifters lived, was doing fine. Sure, they didn’t have all of the advantages that the Roxy fields paid for, but they were showing everyone that maybe those advantages weren’t necessary in teaching Ken-Phae. Quint had gone there, helped install Clevers and thrumming lamps. Putnam had been too prideful to join. Too stubborn. Out on the Voiddamned Strings!

He thought of the mad thrummer—or trancer as Vance had called him—and the spell he’d put on Putnam’s mind. That’s what we did to people, so we could build our tower higher. And now, here I stand, maybe at the end of the world, with no Callus, no answer, no peace song.

Callus had spoken out against the Roxy fields, had grown a large following, had even come close to making a change. Then she was cast out, along with her many followers, and Putnam had stayed in his rooms, hurt by her leaving him for the sake of a fool’s dream; leaving him to help those who could not help themselves. The Roxy drinkers. Those caught in the endless cycle of ‘one more.’ He looked to Vance again, to his … friend. Yes, he’d become a friend. Putnam’s eyes welled with tears. The mistake he’d made with Callus, he may never be able to make up to her, but he was making it up to himself now, by contributing to her cause. I did not understand, Callus. Not until I saw for myself, inside the mind of the mad trancer. Not until I saw the true pain of a deep need for one more, in myself.

Vance woke and started screaming, his eyes wide and bloodshot, vomit trailing down his developing whiskers. Putnam drew the sesnickie blade, preparing himself for any vibrations that may come. He took out two of the thirty milligram Triendria enemas and waited to see if Vance would go slack. He did not, and he continued to scream.

5

The Woman in White stood in a room at the top of the stairs with white pillars and smooth stone floors. A large crypt stood in the middle of the room, the lid left slightly ajar.

Vance watched as the Woman was stabbed through with the sesnickie blade she carried. Vance screamed. He could … feel it, as if he had also been pierced. They screamed together. Vance cried out his pain at the feeling in his gut, and his grief and rage at watching his Mother die.

“MAMA!” he cried. She looked at him with sad eyes.

Help. Me, she mouthed. Vance attuned the Inner Vibrations. Nothing came to him. There was nothing he could feel to aid in healing her wound. Nothing good.

“I DON’T KNOW HOW!” he sobbed. Was any of this worth it? If she was gone?

Vance exploded into a beacon of light.

6

Putnam was pulling down Vance’s pants to insert the Triendria when he noticed black veins creeping up from the man’s thighs. Thrast? But … how is it moving so fast? Putnam thought.

The Drifter screamed, then Putnam was thrown from his dirfweed into a white needled tree as Vance exploded in a pillar of light.

7

Fiona’s eyes shot open as light filled her—and then was cut off. She could feel the vibrations thrumming within her—powerful vibrations, but she could not attune them. She tried several high vibrational mantrums, but to no avail. The sweet light, I just want to touch it, only for a moment …

She was touched by Vermilion’s hands instead, which grabbed her neck and forced the now familiar point of a long syringe into her skin. She went slack and thought no more of the light.

8

The potential of a beast with long claws presented itself above Putnam’s crumpled form. He shifted, feeling the tug of the potential within like an ever present anxiety threatening to seep in and turn to panic.

The wind howled and it threatened to blow him once again into the trees. Deep breath in, exhale with the belly. One, he thought, digging his long black claws into the earth beneath white grass. The pull of the potential did not lessen, but it became a piece of his awareness rather than the sole focus of it. Another breath, belly exhalation. Two. It was becoming something like the feeling of toes on the ground, barely felt unless focused upon. He clawed himself another step forward toward the glowing, screaming Drifter. Three. Another pace forward, another breath. Something tells me I won’t be able to cut through these vibrations with the sesnickie blade, he thought, clawing two more paces forward.

A shot rang out and the Drifter’s form jerked abruptly, startling his already shaking dirfweed to start running away. Vance was cut off from his vibrational meltdown, and the wind stopped howling, allowing Putnam to release his claws from the ground and chase the terrified dirfweed on all fours. Drops of blood left a trail, and Vance continued to scream, giving Putnam a pretty clear indication of where The Drifter was up ahead of him.

A brown form sped past Putnam in the direction of Vance and the dirfweed. Feeling a tug of panic, like the tug of the potential, Putnam ran faster, barreling forward on all fours toward the speeding brown shape. White needles brushed against Putnam’s fur, leaving a sticky residue and slightly irritated skin underneath. He was not going to make it to whoever, or whatever was trying to get to Vance, it was moving too fast.

The brown form crested a hill up ahead and disappeared. Putnam strained this predator’s body and heaved himself over the hill, landing on his feet. Horror gripped his heart, and he felt an intense physical pain there where the Rakshasa had literally tugged on his heartstrings in the Endynas City. Vance’s dirfweed lay on the white grass with Vance still tied to its back, still screaming as blood covered the white grass beneath them. The brown form stood above the two and Vance saw it was a Drake wearing a circle brimmed hat and Leather from head to toe. Two seven-shooters gripped the Drake’s hips. Putnam shifted into his original form, drawing Vance’s sesnickie blade.

“Why is he screaming? And that light. It almost blew me away,” said the Drake.

Putnam pointed the blade at the Drake as he moved forward. “Which one are you?”

“I was on their trail when I saw it, and felt it. They sped off, but I knew I had friends headed to this forest so I had to see. Putnam, right?” The Drake said, turning around. His face looked pained, but he wore a smile.

“Which one are you?” Putnam repeated, walking in a circle, his legs crossing to keep himself facing the Drake.

“It’s me, Putnam. The one from the third Veil. I jumped through a Rakshasa to get to Svargaloka. Do you know how to get him to stop screaming? I’m stalking Red, Fiona and Prudance.”

“He’s been screaming,” Putnam said, still keeping the blade pointed at the Drake, “since he started emanating that pillar of light. But now I wonder if he isn’t screaming because you shot him.”

The Drake looked at the screaming Vance, then at Putnam, then back to Vance, then he pointed at the dirfweed. “I shot the mount. Not the Drifter.”

“What?” Putnam said. He could not see where the wound was, just the copious amounts of blood. “How did you get him to stop thrumming then?”

“I think I just startled him out of it.”

Putnam rushed forward. He’d thought a sesnickie bullet had caught the Drifter off from his vibrations. He could start thrumming any minute now. Putnam caught a glance of Vance’s eyes; they were not sane. “Help me. We have to give him the sedative.” The Drake didn’t move. “It’s the only way! Now! Turn him over!” Vermilion obliged.

Now that Putnam was closer, he could see that the Drake wasn’t lying. A hole was leaking blood from the neck of the dirfweed. Vance screamed as they worked. Putnam held the sesnickie blade point first to the Drifter’s shoulder in case the thrumming started again. “I have to keep the blade ready. You’ll have to pull his pants down,” Putnam said.

“What in the actual fuck?”

“Do it!”

“No!” said the Drake.

Putnam groaned and pulled down the screaming Drifter’s pants. He was still tied to the dirfweed, securing him somewhat, but he writhed as much as possible, making it difficult to get the pants down. When he did get them down, he noticed something peculiar. No black veins, he thought. Was I imagining things? He shrugged off the thought and pushed the enema into Vance’s rectum. Pulling the pants up, Putnam walked off, putting some distance between himself and the Drake as well as the Drifter. He didn’t exactly trust either of them presently.

“What was that about?” Vermilion asked, still looking at the now drooling Vance.

“He’s … a … drug addict,” Putnam said between hard indrawn breaths. The whole event had worn him out and he found he was very lacking in vibrational sustenance currently; he’d have to get some food soon.

“And?”

“And he’s trying to stop doing them. I am trying to help,” Putnam said, sitting on his haunches. Vermilion followed suit.

“By putting pills in his asshole? Isn’t that kind of the opposite of quitting?”

“Though I wasn’t aware they could cause vibrational explosions, we were trying to keep the more severe manifestations of the withdrawals at a tolerable level. He said they can be quite … unpleasant.”

“What are the pills?”

“Triendria.”

“Tranquilizers?”

“Yes,” Putnam said. “So he could sleep through them. We were going try and find the imposter.”

“I found him,” Vermilion said.

“How? The forest is huge.”

“I caught their trail right before they came in. Using the fractal fields, with the help of a … friend.”

Putnam thought there was an odd note in the Drake’s voice when saying ‘friend,’ but he let it pass. “Could you find it again you think?”

“I learned some things in the other endo. They might come in handy. But what about him?” Vermilion pointed a thumb at the unconscious Drifter strapped to the dead and bleeding dirfweed.

“Should be good in another day. We could walk. Strap him to my dirfweed. It is a big forest. You could scout ahead while I walk with Vance to get us on their trail. I have an idea.”

9

On the eleventh night, Vermilion killed a few rabbits and made mittens out of the fur. He roasted the rest over a small fire a reasonable distance away from the three that he followed so as not to be detected. He kept an awareness about him to hear if the party attempted any serious movement; he’d sharpened this skill during his time with the migi folk above their toxic mind swamp. He never fully believed the tale of the swamp’s gasses affecting the ability of the people to expand their ünta; Vermilion thought it was simply something one had to tap into, and the swamp was a sort of placebo for the migi. He’d never voiced this, though, as the people took excellent care of him, and he knew how he’d felt when someone had called him ‘Giant’ in a hateful way—none too pleased—and he imagined making fun of their way of life would inspire similar feelings. Vermilion hadn’t been able to travel to the other endos as the migi explained, but he had been able to expand his awareness—his ünta—throughout a specific area.

Vermilion had been waiting to attack so he could gather his strength for a possible confrontation with Red. If possible, he wanted to get Fiona and Pru out of there without having to fight. He’d decided tonight would be the night; he would lightly come into their camp, get to Red and point a gun at his head, find the sleeping serum he’d been administering to Fiona through syringes, stab the shape-shifter with a needle, then gather his daughter and Fiona and get out on the dirfweed. No camping after that, just a straight run to the Tower of Tones. He didn’t want to kill Red, just get his precious cargo away from the man.

Vermilion went for a piss off into the woods just a bit outside of his camp. When he came back, He gathered his things and loaded his guns. He made sure to eat some extra jerky for the potential ghost shots he’d have to perform and the—

There was a gun jabbing into the back of Vermilion’s head. He froze.

“Drop your seven-shooters and your knife, Vermilion,” said a voice behind the barrel. Vermilion heard the hammer click. He started to bend down toward the ground to put his guns down. After he put both guns down, he reached into his coat. “I’ll get your knife for you if it’s in there. It is isn’t it?” Red asked quietly. His quiet almost matched the quiet of the Forever Forest which was enchantingly still. “You may speak.”

“Yes,” Vermilion said. Red removed the knife from Vermilion’s coat and threw it on the ground.

There was another click, but this one was a little further behind Vermilion. Another hammer being cocked.

“Drop your gun, Red. Or I’m firing. I’ve got too many reasons to do it, don’t give me another,” a voice said from behind Red.

Putnam resumed his original oily black shape and felt the seven-shooter drop from the back of his head. He turned around to look at the shape-shifter.

“I have brothers like you. You disgust me,” said Putnam who then spit in Red’s face. Red’s eyes were wide with terror. The spittle barely phased him.

“How?” Red asked shakily. “I felt your ünta, Vermilion. Coming from this spot.”

“Yes, well. That was intentional. I switched places with Putnam when I was taking a piss, Red. I learned to move my ünta around on the other side. It was surrounding Putnam,” Vermilion said. The shape-shifter then tried to use his ghost shot on Vermilion, unaware that he had by now far surpassed Red’s skills. Vermilion grabbed the arm that held the seven-shooter and twisted it until it snapped. Red dropped the gun, screamed and collapsed to the ground.

“He’ll do it!” Red trilled. “He will. Whether you’ve stopped me or not, the Necrolore will come. And then I’ll come back. He’ll bring me back! And he’ll kill every single Voids-damned ONE of you, Vermilion. He—”

He was cut off by a sword slicing through his windpipe. Red’s blood colored the white grass red and his body slowly bled out. Vermilion was stunned and looked up at Putnam, mouth agape.

“Sometimes … it’s better to put a rabid dog down, Drake. Especially when that rabid dog can change shape depending on the potential realities that may present themselves,” Putnam said, flicking his sword to get some of the blood off.

“His wrist was broken! He was helpless!” Vermilion said. Putnam’s white eyes were very bright inside of his oily black face.

“Hardly. I know you can’t necessarily see the potentials, but I can. He saw it too. It was a nasty one. Something I’ve heard referred to as an endoheist. We would have been sucked into him. Taken away to a different reality, or possibly extinguished altogether from this plain. Until tonight, I thought us shifters died when we went to another reality. I’m not really sure why he still assumes your shape, maybe that’s a consequence of a shifter traversing the potentials? We get a new original form? I don’t know. I know he came from somewhere else though if he switched places with you. In any event, if you had a serious connection with the creature that stole your baby, I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” Putnam said.

Vermilion didn’t respond to the sarcasm. “I heard of the endoheist from the migi folk on the other side. If that is true, then thank you, Putnam.”

Putnam nodded his head in acknowledgement.

“Help me grab his things, will ya? We can use the ammo,” Vermilion said.

They walked to where the shape-shifter had set up his camp off through the trees. Here was Vance, weaponless, standing over Prudance, watching her coo. Fiona lay to the right of a fire that burned brilliantly, eating its way through three logs that were mostly still intact.

“Took y’all long enough,” Vance said. Putnam still wasn’t trusting him with weapons, just to be sure.

“I’m sorry, Vance. We were only trying to lure a shape-shifter from some other reality into a trap by making him believe Vermilion’s consciousness was actually within me,” said Putnam, smiling. He had resumed his butler form so it was easier to differentiate between facial expressions.

“Looks like Red left plenty of formula. Is there any way to tell if this stuff’s doing something awful to her?” Vermilion said. They both looked to Vance. “Does that helmet do anything like that?”

Vance looked at the bag of formula.

“I mean I’d have to see another bag of formula to compare. I haven’t had much of a need, exactly, to look at the vibrational frequencies of baby formula before,” Vance said.

“I think our only real option is you trust it. Maybe forego the green paste though,” Putnam said, looking down at the jar of the stuff. Putnam’s gaze shifted from the jar of green paste over to Fiona. “What’s that? Did she do that while you were with her?” He pointed to a thin white sliver that pierced through one nostril of her nose and dangled there.

“No … that’s new,” said Vermilion, who then bent down to inspect the white nose ring. It was the same color as the sesnickie bone grips on his seven-shooters. He immediately pulled it out.

“What are you doin’?!?” Vance cried. “That could have been anything!”

“You’re right. But this … ” he held up the small curved thing, “is sesnickie bone. It has to be. Fiona would’ve been able to thrash Red with the vibrations otherwise. Anyway, I recognize the technique. We use similar methods on Rakshasas in Karad-Dürn,” Vermilion said.

“I’m not even gonna ask,” Vance said.

“Probably better that you don’t. We need to find our way out of here,” Vermilion said.

“And hopefully find Quint and Pip before then,” said Putnam.

“If we can find them. The way it’s looking, we’re just going to have to get to the other side of this forest and hope they make it,” Vermilion said.

“Might be a better idea to try and find ‘em,” Vance said.

The others looked at Vance. Prudance cooed. There was no wind, the forest completely silent. He went on.

“Last time I came through this wood—when I left the tower—Rakshasas were waiting for me. They took me ta Lavender. I was there ten years. I saw that Rakshasa you took down at the third Veil, Vermilion. And I have a feeling … ” Vance said, looking at Putnam, “there’s more. Between the shape-shifter, the Rakshasa, the instability of the third Veil in general … I’d rather not chance it. I wanna find Quint.”

Putnam gave Vance a searching look and made the decision to trust the man in that moment. He’d suffered through getting off the Boosts, and his mind seemed clear. He intentionally set down all of Vance’s gear and walked to the other side of the fire where Fiona lay. He nodded at the sword, gun, sheath and ammo.

“There’s your gear, Vance. Thanks for lending it to me. I agree with Vance. Some strange things have been happening in the valley. I’d feel better if we could find Quint and Pip before continuing into the tower.”

10

The craving ran through Vance’s body like an electric shock. First was the taste in the back of his throat. The smell of the Boost hitting his system. The pinch of the needle piercing the flesh. The instantaneous optimism about life. The void left in place of his old friend that had accompanied him for so many years of his life. His mouth watered. He became incredibly sad and self possessed. He felt like he had just left a pool of water and it was freezing outside. He tried to use the presence exercise Putnam had shown him. It did nothing to suppress the feelings. Though he knew suppressing the feelings was the thing the presence exercise was striving to negate, this only made it more confusing for him in the moment of real struggle.

In these moments, he felt like he was starving in a monochrome world and the only thing that could bring food or color back was a Boost. He knew it wasn’t true, but somewhere in the back of his brain, this belief had embedded itself and it came up for air whenever it felt like Vance was having too good a time. Lighting a smoke? Why not think of how a smoke would be while fucked up? Breathing? Remember how easy breathing was when you didn’t have to worry about it? Eating? Remember … not eating?

All these thoughts assaulted him within a five second window. The only thing that had disrupted them was Putnam putting his weapons down and saying thank you for letting him use them. Vance blinked and swallowed the extra saliva that the craving had summoned up in his mouth—salivating over the illusion.

Vance picked up his things and put them all in their proper places on his body. Then he returned to a thought that had bounced around in his head since the drugs had left his system. I was gonna sell my friend out to the same ol’ fucks that kept me in that fuckin’ tube for years, he thought. The idea haunted him. He thought it probably would for a long time. That’s where he’d let the Boosts take him to; a place where he’d even begun to consider helping the Hate take one of his brothers.

He was thankful for Putnam. He wasn’t completely sure how the phase-shifter had had such a drastic change of heart toward him, but it meant more than he could know. Things felt … different this time. Vance had dabbled in the whole ‘clean living’ thing. He’d tried switching to no-sleep instead, or getting a hobby, taking more jobs; nothing worked and he always wanted more. This time there was an answer after the grand slew of images that embodied his cravings. The answer was no as opposed to those other times where the question just went on forever until he Boosted again—the question being ‘should I?’

The reason the answer was no was … well, there were a few, though the most prevalent motivating factor was that he was going to help hurt Quint and Pip. That’s where Boosts took him. Babbling to his sword sheath, killing hookers and selling out two of his oldest friends.

“At the very least, we should wait for ‘em at the sixth Veil. It’s right at the edge of the forest. We can spread out along it if we hafta. It cuts all the way across from mountain to mountain,” Vance said.

“I’ll follow your lead. You guys bailed me out. I’d still be on the other side if it weren’t for you, Vance,” Vermilion said.

Putnam made a small movement and put his hand to his heart for just a moment, then removed it quickly. Vermilion didn’t notice, but Vance did. Vance had noticed it every time it had happened in the past ten days. The first few times, Vance had written it off as indigestion, but it was happening too frequently. When he wasn’t touching his hand to his heart, he was tensing up slightly, the most noticeably tense muscles being those in his neck. Vance hadn’t addressed the issue yet. He didn’t feel he had the right to nose in on a personal problem, but then again … Putnam had done just that with him. But Vance had only just gotten his weapons back. Maybe the time wouldn’t be right until he’d built a little more credit with the phase-shifter.

“Let’s camp here tonight eh? We’ll take watches in two cycle intervals. How does that sound to y’all?” Vance asked.

“I’ll take first watch,” said Putnam.

“No, please, let me,” Vermilion said.

“I’m taking first watch. And if you want to fight about it, I see a pretty good Vermilion potential above my left shoulder. We could try it out just for old times sake. I know how fond you were of Red,” Putnam said.

Vermilion laughed and shrugged his shoulders. He then lay down on the ground on a blanket of fur that Red must have been using as a sleeping pad, and—snuggling Prudance into the crook of his arm— quickly fell asleep, snoring loudly.

“You had to take watch when you knew I’d be sleeping at the same time as him?” Vance said.

“I’m finding my humble willingness to serve is benefiting me greatly,” Putnam said with a smirk.

Vance chuckled then laid down and wrapped himself in his cape. Sleep wasn’t easy, but sleep did come, and when it did it was welcome, for he wasn’t used to being alive again.

Vance dreamed, once again, of Boost needles that wouldn’t penetrate the skin, no matter how hard he tried. He dreamed of the beautiful Genna and her face was everywhere. He was in a city and every face that looked at him was Genna’s, but he couldn’t focus on them, nor did he want to. He wanted to be looked at, the receiver, not the giver. Then the dream changed tone. There was a dark grey cyclone covering the entire sky. The air around Vance seemed to shift, but not by the blowing of wind—it was like the air was changing and being ripped apart in places. He started walking on dried and cracked earth toward the center of the cyclone.

She was there, causing it, pulling him toward her. Always pulling him toward her. Her mouth and eyes were hollow black holes, her yellow hair spread out in the air like the branches of a leafless tree. Vance started running to her, yelling soundlessly. She couldn’t hear. She was trapped in the cyclone. The cyclone was … coming out of her eye sockets and mouth. Vance looked closer and noticed it was coming out of her ears and nose as well. But it was also … going in. The storm was being fed into her as it was coming out of her, but there was no way to tell which was causing which to happen. As he drew closer, the face became that of the woman Fiona, who lay sleeping by the campfire just outside the dream. The woman laughed loudly and opened the veins on both wrists with a knife. Vance was sucked into her bloodstream and then he woke up with a start, sweating.

Putnam looked at Vance without emotion, though Vance knew by now that this was Putnam’s reaction to virtually anything. Vance nodded to him.

“Bad dream. My watch?” Vance asked.

Putnam nodded and lay down beside the fire. Vance stole a look at Fiona. I mean she kind of does, but not really. And the hair’s wrong. But still … I had this feeling since I’ve come near her …. Vance had a craving again. It wasn’t as strong as the last, but it did take these thoughts to a new intensity, because he associated anything bad with the pain relief of everything good after a fresh Boost. He knew it wasn’t true; sometimes he got a bad syringe and it just wasn’t good. Sometimes, if he ran out in the wrong place, he’d be using some bunk shit that would send him straight into psychotic terror. Shit, the memory of any comedown was enough to know that Boosting was not worth it, but there that belief was, rising from the deep to say otherwise.

11

Ali stands in the middle of the big spitting circle. Vermilion is across from her. They stare directly into each other’s eyes. The Chair of the circle turns to Vermilion. A fire burns between them. The sky is dark red.

“You will spit first, Vermilion. We shall all bear witness,” says the Chair. “None of this shall be carried outside the circle except between the two of you to do with as you wish in conversation with each other and no one else. Do you both agree?”

Vermilion and Ali both nod without breaking eye contact with each other. Beads of sweat drip down both of their faces. They are close to the fire, close enough to smell burning hair. They both hold one loaded gun in their right hand pushed into the temple of the other. Ali breathes raggedly and scowls. Vermilion smiles.

“Are you ready? Good. Bad first, good after. Begin,” and the Chair of the spitting circle sits down among the rest of the masked ring of Drakes that make up the spitting circle. Ali and Vermilion are not masked. Vermilion begins.

“Ali gets angry. She yells in frustration. When there’s something coming that she’s not looking forward to, she worries—and if others aren’t worried, she acts as if they are part of the problem. She is jealous. If I have a conversation with a woman I’ve had relations with in the past, she has an attitude with me. She gives the cold shoulder for hours rather than talking about her problems. If you leave to do something for yourself for a long time, she will not be happy with you when you get back, but you won’t find out that it was your fault for at least a week!” Vermilion says, all while maintaining eye contact and smiling. Ali scowls at him. “She says things that others would say in a critical way, but she is just stating facts. Something like ‘you didn’t aim correctly’. She means well by it, but it drives me insane sometimes, almost more so because of the cold, detached, matter-of-fact way in which she says it. That is all for the bad. Now the good. Ali’s smile makes me feel free every time I see it. Ali is as passionate in her love as she is in her anger, and almost always her anger is based in love. Her worry that drives me nuts is also a worry that’s based on love. Her tears have a weight to them that says they are genuine. She listens even when she doesn’t seem to be. She is better with a gun than I could ever wish to become. Ali wants to be free and is, and she will not compromise her freedom unless it’s something that expands that freedom. Ali is not afraid to express her opinion in any situation. She is brave in the face of things that men would run away from. She is the best person I know and that is all,” Vermilion finished, smiling in his relaxed way.

“Ali?” The Chair of the spitting circle asks.

“Vermilion doesn’t take things seriously enough. He thinks that things will work themselves out always, and he shames people that don’t believe the same way. He says it’s better to let go of things, yet he holds very tightly to the idea that he shouldn’t hold onto things. He smiles as if to taunt those in the world who frown. He does worry, but only about those things that are important to him. Vermilion is sensitive. He takes things I say personally when I am merely stating facts or making a joke. I never know if what I’m going to say is going to be taken the wrong way because I’m not smiling when I say it every time. Vermilion is messy. Sometimes he seems completely disinterested while we are conversing. Now the good. Vermilion loves with his whole heart. Vermilion may forget it’s the day I was born, but he will remember every day to love me as if it were that day. Vermilion smiles and it gives me strength. It reminds me that it’s not such a big deal. His smile says, ‘this isn’t what’s important—what we have is what’s important’. Vermilion’s sensitivity makes him sensitive toward others. It makes me feel less crazy that even though he doesn’t worry about the small stuff, he is still affected by getting his feelings hurt. Vermilion moves like lightning. He loves me with all he has. Vermilion is the best person I know and I love him with my whole heart.” Ali says the last line very softly, and the rigidity of both faces melts into tears.

“Does anyone in the circle object to this union?” Asks the Chair. The masked faces all remain silent. “You may lower your weapons and consummate.” Vermilion and Ali lower their guns and remove their clothing, then consummate their union in the middle of the spitting circle while the masked members watch.

12

Fiona awoke sweating, feeling slightly aroused from the ending of the dream. She also felt sick considering Vermilion had kidnapped her, poisoning her with a syringe to keep her asleep. She felt her nose. It was sore, but she’d felt like there was something in her nostril while she’d grabbed at it in her dazed state on the dirfweed, and there was nothing in it now, just blood-crusted skin.

She sat up slowly, not quite understanding why Vermilion hadn’t drugged her again yet. She looked around and saw a man in livery laying on the ground not too far from her. Crawling backward with her arms, her butt scraping the ground as she did, she wondered if some of Vermilion’s friends come. There was a man with a helmet keeping watch, looking away from where Fiona sat. As she looked at this one, she felt a small tug inside. It wasn’t a tug toward the man, but a tug from her, bringing the man to her. It was subtle, and by no means powerful enough to actually bring the man to her physically, but she could feel it, and she realized the pull had been there for a long time. How odd. She reached for the little tugging with the Inner Vibrations. She pulled on it ever so slightly. The man shifted. She tried again but this time just a bit harder. He moved his head around, scratched it and then stared off in the direction he had been before Fiona had started this. Hmm … just a little. Bit. Harder, she thought. It was a game of imagination; she imagined another set of arms within herself reaching down into her bowels and grabbing onto a golden rope. She could almost feel the coils of string tighten in her grasp. Then she pulled as hard as she could. The man jumped up and turned around, looking directly at her.

“The fuck?!?” The man said. Fiona was just as surprised as the man looked, her eyes bulging. She looked down at her stomach to the area where she had felt the attachment of the imaginary rope.

“I … I didn’t—” She stammered.

“What did you do? What was that?” The man said, exasperated. He took off his helmet and rubbed his head with one hand, and she saw there were several little holes on his head. He noticed she was staring at him and quickly put the helmet back on his head.

“I … don’t know. I thought it was you. Who are you?” Fiona said, and then she remembered her situation and realized she had just used the vibrations to pull on the strange mind rope connecting her to this man. She hadn’t used the vibrations in over ten days. The drugs could have had something to do with it, but even when she’d woken up briefly in-between doses, she was completely unable to touch the vibrations. Attuning the Inner Vibrations, she split herself four ways as she had before when practicing on Vermilion and Quint.

Vanitas-fa-ren-bishdu.

The vibration went into the three men in the little clearing in the pure white wood, a pure, white light that grew to an almost blinding brightness as it was forced into three people at once. Any distinguishing lines that helped to see the difference between the white grass and the white trees was completely gone now. It was only Fiona, the phase-shifter, Vermilion and the helmeted man. She was not going to miss this chance. She had begun trusting the Drake, even growing a bit fond of him, and she was not going to make that mistake again. She entered them with her emptiness and forgiveness mantrum—Vanitas-fa-ren-bishdu—allowing her to do as she wished with them. I—will not—be—drugged—again!

The helmeted man pushed back on her thrumming slightly, so she grabbed hold of the imaginary rope at her navel again and gave it a yank! The man immediately stopped his thrumming. She attuned another vibration at the same time. She could feel herself wearing thin, as if she would tear if stretched any further, but she did not care. She would not be taken again, and she would not be humiliated like that. It was bad enough they had made her feel powerless, but they had also taken a child, an innocent that was already suffering from some vibrational sickness that made her look completely wretched. Be sure to keep Prudance safe, a voice in the back of her mind pleaded. Vermilion has her. She didn’t ask for this.

Vo-somu-ikestama-vo-ketst.

Terror. This … this is how she’d ripped hearts out. Terror, Emptiness, and Forgiveness were the weapons she wielded against these three. She reached into their chests with the terror mantrum as she reached into their minds to wipe them clean and make them completely impotent. Almost … there, she thought, then something slammed into her like a sesnickie tackling her. The blinding light in the clearing faded, and it was then that she realized it was a sesnickie that had slammed into her, breaking her concentration and her vibrations.

“Pip!” Fiona said, then hugged the sesnickie around their white-haired mane, twisting her fingers in it like her life depended on it. Then she stopped. “Pip?!? What are you doing?!? These men—”

“One of these men is Putnam, another is Quint’s friend. As far as Vermilion goes, we will have to see. For now, let’s wait for Quint to catch up on his dirfweed,” Pip sent to her mind. “Fiona, this may seem like an odd question, but—you don’t think its my fault that the Fishing failed, do you?”

“No, not at all Pip, why?” Fiona said.

“You’re still on about that?” Quint said, bushy eyebrows raised.

Fiona looked from Pip to Quint, then back again.

“It’s nothing, Fiona. Thank you,” Pip said, but Fiona though she heard the sesnickie mentally muttering, “Have you tried looking in a mirror … “

Fiona got a better look at the man in livery and realized with a significant amount of shock that it was Putnam—that was his signature butler form. He was breathing raggedly, some blood coloring the corner of his mouth.

“No! Putnam!” She cried, rushing to him and putting her hand on his hand which clutched at his chest. “No no no no NO! What did I do?!?”

“Hello, Fiona,” Putnam said weakly, coughing a bit. “I’m quite impressed. And you—” He coughed up more blood on the ground, “—know I don’t give out praise that’s unwarranted.”

Fiona smiled and let out a small laugh that shook one of the tears off and onto Putnam’s black suit jacket. Putnam reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. Putnam was usually so reserved with everyone, but especially Fiona because of her fear of phase-shifters. This was odd behavior.

“What’s wrong?” Fiona said. “What’s wrong with your chest? What is it?” Fiona was panicking. She thought she’d done this.

“I’ll be fine, Fiona,” He said.

“Can’t you just grab a phase-warp that makes you better?” Fiona asked.

“Unfortunately, once you’re injured on one plane in such a way as this, it tends to … “ he grunted, “bleed over to the others. It’s my heart. And it wasn’t you, it was a Rakshasa,” Putnam said. The helmeted man was up now.

“I’m comin’ over there, Fiona. I know you don’t know who I am, but that’s my friend on the ground there,” The man said. He approached very slowly in a crouch with his hands out to the side to show that he meant no harm. He even put his weapons down on the ground as he drew closer and reached a hand out toward her. “Name’s Vance, I’ve heard a lotta good things ‘bout you.”

Fiona just stared at him. He put his hand down. “I’m sorry, but who is this?” She asked, looking at Putnam.

“This is one of Master Quint’s oldest friends—“

“Valucias,” a voice said above the pitter patter of a dirfweed’s clawed feet moving into the clearing. Fiona saw Quint and Carter riding in on dirfweed back.

“I beat you,” Putnam said.

Quint dismounted, smirking at Putnam, the firelight twinkling in his eye-glasses.

“Why did he say his name is Vance if it is Valucias?” Fiona asked.

“I used to go by that name, but I changed it,” said Vance. “Call me what you want. Some have called me The Drifter, like other bounty hunters.”

“What’s wrong with you, Putnam?” Quint asked.

“He said he was previously injured by a Rakshasa, but I touched on the same wound, making it worse. I didn’t know it was Putnam … I thought they were with Vermilion,” Fiona said.

“The one who took you … was not the real Vermilion, Fiona,” Putnam said.

“Yeah he had me tricked too, but—“

“Let me show you,” Vance said, and she felt him attune the vibrations. Before she could react, something had flown into The Drifter’s hand from the trees. “This … was the head of something like a phase-shifter.”

Fiona looked in horror from the head in Vance’s hand, to Putnam, who nodded weakly. The head looked exactly like Vermilion’s.

“He was from another potential, Fiona. Like the potentials phase-shifters use to change form. They are called shape-shifters there, but they are essentially the same as phase-shifters. His name was Red and he’s been posing as Vermilion since you all passed through the third Veil,” Putnam said. “I always thought shifters died when they came fully through to another potential, but it looks like maybe you just keep the form you changed into? I’m not sure.”

Vermilion had been quiet and still this entire time.

“I’ve got a good way to solve this. Ask me a question about a memory we shared together before the third Veil, and a memory from after. Make them specific so I wouldn’t know the answer unless I were there,” Vermilion said, not moving anything but his lips as he spoke. Fiona stared at him, contemplating the thought for the length of about thirty clicks.

“Did you go into the well?” She asked.

“No,” he answered.

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“And just what was it I did in that well?”

Vermilion hesitated, still not moving and keeping his gaze pointed straight ahead into the thick of white-needled trees.

“You … fucked the creatures that were there,” Vermilion said.

“Did I like it?” Fiona asked, her face taking on a mock-innocence as she cocked her head.

“Is that question really necessary?” Vermilion asked.

“Yes.”

“You seemed to be having the best time and I almost wondered if I ought to have jumped in as well, but I’m glad I didn’t on account of the baby being strapped to my chest,” Vermilion said and smiled a bit. Fiona did not smile. “I mean … Carter had to pull you—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Fiona said. “What was in the Fishing that Pip gave you the night after the cave of the light creatures?”

“You said you’d give me your signature if I taught you in the Rocco Way. Pip and I went to Svargaloka and he gave me my Fishing. It said that you would heal Prudance, and I would teach you,” Vermilion said.

“What was the card?” Fiona asked.

“The Mother,” Vermilion answered. Then there was silence.

Then Fiona walked over to the big Drake, lifted his chin up with both hands so she could look him in the eyes, then nodded and walked away.

“Did you get my things from the other one’s body?” Fiona asked Putnam.

“Yes, along with his three guns” Putnam answered and pointed to a spot by the fire where he had set her bag, thrumming belt, sword and three guns—one of them hers.

“One of the guns is mine,” said Fiona, almost defensively. She thought she would have to deal with a condescending speech from Putnam, Quint or Vermilion but no-one seemed to want to question her right now, and that was probably a wise choice on all of their parts. She was in no mood.

Fiona bent down to start putting all of her gear back on.

“Fiona, the suspense is killing us,” Quint said.

“Fa-ketskt-ma bishdu,” Carter said.

“Oh, it’s the real Vermilion. We can all move on now, and—” she paused and looked at Carter. She squinted her eyes in confusion, furrowing her brow. She pointed at Carter slowly. “What’d you just say?” She began walking toward Carter.

“Ba bishi-nan-fiddi,” Carter replied.

“Fiona … it’s Carter. That’s what he does,” Quint said, looking from Carter to Fiona, then back again.

“What … did you say?” Fiona asked Carter. She was six feet away from him now.

“Fi-dan-da rimdu.”

“Fiona, he was babbling.”

“No. He said something. He knows something Quint. I can feel it now. “

“Fiona … I don’t think you know what you’re talking about. I—”

“Fa-ketskt-ma bishdu. That’s what you just said, isn’t it? ISN’T IT?!?” Fiona screamed as she started fishing for something inside of her bag while she kept her eyes fixed on Carter.

“FIONA, NO!” Quint said, but it was too late. Fiona had already pulled out the copy of ‘The Art of Mantrum and Vibration’ by Morrison Hycondecles from her bag. Quint visibly relaxed upon seeing she had produced no weapon. Without looking, Fiona flipped the pages to one that had a leather cord marking it. It was in a chapter on some of the mythology pertaining to the vibrations.

Fiona held the open book up to Quint, pointing a finger to the paragraph about the vibration.

“Read it, Quint,” Fiona said, not taking her eyes off of Carter. Quint took the book from her and adjusted his glasses, then read aloud:

“Rakshasas could Move anywhere on sesnickie-back if a certain mantrum was spoken. All Rakshasas were bound to this ancient vibration and it could penetrate any vibrational barrier. They would feel a strong tug to the place until they went. It is said that Leere himself spoke the mantrum three-thousand years ago and from then on, Rakshasas had to speak it as an oath when getting sworn into their order. The mantrum is: Fa-ketskt-ma bishdu, but don’t go trying to attune it, nothing will happen. Some say the whole story is made up, while others attest to eye-witness accounts. I’ll let you decide.”

Quint looked up at Fiona as he read the last line. He said: “It could be coincidence, Fiona. How could Carter—”

“It’s no coincidence, Quint,” Fiona said sadly, biting her lower lip. “Oh, Carter … Leslie … Whoever you are … what happened to you? What have you done?”

The silent, still forest became suddenly very loud and windy.

“What have you DONE?” Fiona screamed at Carter as the winged shapes descended on the group. The white clothes and shining skin of the Rakshasas were the same shade as the tree needles and grass of the Forever Forest. Fiona’s hair blew. She could feel the creatures attuning the Inner Vibrations as they descended, flapping their black wings to keep from falling.

“Quint, we don’t know if this is Leslie or Carter,” Fiona yelled, waving at Carter, “There isn’t much we can do, but you have to keep him from attacking any of us while we hold them off, got it?”

Quint looked from the man beside him up to the awful sight of pure black and white pouring out of the heavens, his eyes wide and his mouth wider.

“QUINT!” Fiona cried.

“Ok!” Quint said.

“Vermilion, get up and load those seven-shooters with sesnickie bullets if you got ‘em. Vance—you know how to use that thing on your hip?” Fiona asked.

“Sho do,” he said, drawing the gun. Fiona tossed him a bag of sesnickie tooth bullets. They’d need as many of those as possible. Fiona grabbed some wax casings with sesnickie bullets from her bag and put them on the little upturned hooks of her belt. Putnam stood up slowly, coughing as he did so.

“Putnam, go lie down near Quint. You’re too hurt,” Fiona said.

“That … is none of your business, miss Fiona,” the phase-shifter said, drawing his sword.

“Suit yourself. As for me, I will not be taken again, by anyone,” Fiona said.

“Me neither. Especially by these fucks,” Vance said, and then he screamed, firing the first shot.